


Story of Nal

by restaway



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:17:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4571220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restaway/pseuds/restaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of terrible initiations, horrible sorceresses, confused teenagers, primordial sins, past lifetimes, and many more woeful things</p>
            </blockquote>





	Story of Nal

Thor was extremely fond of his brother. He loved him without restraint, even if he rarely demonstrated it. So when the nightmares started it was a blow from which he never recovered. Before those dark dreams he honestly believed himself pure and benevolent. Yet after such frightful dreams he could never again be certain that there wasn't a rotting part in his soul, festering slowly, infecting him with the poison of decay, and threatening one day to consume him whole.

In these dreams, he stands before his dead brother lying on a snow covered altar. Every part of his brother's body marked with a strange script he cannot read. In the air hangs the scent of libations and woe. People can be heard crying in the distance. And in this scene of abject mourning, he climbs on the altar and makes love to his brother's dead body. And while watching this in his dream his heart feels like tearing and bursting. He cannot breathe and he cannot wake, yet he thinks if suffocating in his sleep will release him from such shame it wouldn't be a sad outcome. In the next scene his brother's body is meticulously dismembered to be cooked and served at a lavish banquet, which he attends. Sitting on a golden table are the old gods and heroes of Asgard dining on his brother's flesh. And he eats too.

In all his life, he had never had a more upsetting vision. Being a child himself when he was first visited by these dreams, he was ashamed to seek counsel, or confess it to someone so he could find relief. And so the ideation that in some way the dream could come true took firmly root in his soul. Ever since he struggled to keep his brother away, and in turn Loki would abandon him more and more in favor of pursuing the company of less difficult people. And it was then that Thor began to think that perhaps such would be their downfall. That in turning him away and avoid dealing with the ominous dream, he would be the instrument of his brother's violation and death.

If before there hadn't been a flaw in his character, those unexpressed feelings shaped one.

 

.........................

 

Sif, in her youth, had a variety of stories she liked to tell to shock and horrify them. Being the easy target of teasing she found a taste for the sinister. Sif wouldn't offer these stories casually, but she neither would if prodded and begged. Loki was certain that Sif's stories didn't come from books, but weren't entirely the product of her imagination either. These stories were likely relayed to her in order to imbue her with fear at worst, and prudence at best. However, Sif would indulge in dressing these stories with lavish and sensuous descriptions of torture. One did not simply fall in an old well and die. The heroes of her tales were mercilessly violated before they were even allowed to beg for death.

It was not entirely certain to whom these stories were directed, even if they all secretly looked forward to them. They made Volstagg nauseous, but still he stayed as perhaps a way to fortify himself against an even more frightening reality. Hogun listened to them with a cold detachment that betrayed familiarity. Perhaps in his household tales of cruelty were also a great way of imbuing young children with morals. Thor did not like them, not one bit. They got to him, but he listened to them anyway just to prove that he was brave. Fandral took genuine pleasure in them. He loved the wretched end of truly wicked characters. And Sif had a truly sadistic streak with the wicked. As for him, her stories made him experience feelings that he didn't quite have a name for. It was mostly why he was in love with Sif, even if the concept of being in love was unfamiliar to him at that time. But for Sif he had always been her inspiration.

Those storytelling sessions did not last long. Sif decided to quit them one day. Perhaps she run out of characters to flog _until each lash from the whip licked away strips of skin_ , there were no more eyes to gouge, and no more tongues to drive nails into. She never gave an explanation about why she lost her appetite for them, but maybe it was because she started noticing the real cruelty around her. Maybe one of their tutors overheard her. Maybe they told her family. Maybe her family scolded her for corrupting the princes. Such stories sound perverse in the mouths of children. Or maybe Sif began respecting Thor's sensitivities.

She forgot them all too easily and would even accuse him of making things up when he reminded them to her. It seemed to him incredibly unfair, since he would be the only one among them who would learn to actively seek out such stories. However much he tried though, he could never find scenes with the sophistication of Sif's wording. And he looked everywhere. Of course, the palatial libraries censored with rigor such material, and so following suit no publishing house invested in its production. Unless it was for some very old poetry, which sinister as it was, it also lacked the point of view of such a skilled narrator as Sif. Some exclusive bookshops that procured their merchandise from private libraries had some foreign literature that approached Sif's style, but the authors were all full of themselves. They wrote for an audience in a tried tone, a tone that had proved lucrative for them, while, according to his opinion, Sif told these stories for him alone.

The truth of the matter was perhaps that he would have outgrown Sif's stories easily if it hadn't been for the kiss. The kiss she gave him a summer afternoon in the shade of a rose bush. He had convinced her to skip practice with him. Together they had retired by a creek in the gardens. He hadn't made any plans, but by chance he carried a book with him. Sif made him read to her while she napped. He read for several minutes without really caring if she listened or not, but keeping his tone and breathing as formal as possible. He was so engrossed in his reading exercise that to tell the truth he paid little attention to what he was actually reading. Then as if in a trance, Sif rose from her sleep. Her face glistening with humidity and sweat, her eyes strange. "That's who I want to be" she said and to Loki it seemed that she would cry. He looked down at the open pages trying to find the verses that had moved Sif to such deep emotion. It was a silly story, about a Nal's quarrel with Ymir. The prose was rife with fat similes that lauded her bravery and cunning. She seemed like a bully to him. "That's because you always take the Jotuns' side" Sif reproached him when he had voiced his criticism. And then she smirked. "I'll tell you a funny story about Ymir". Loki felt a quiet thrill overtake him, for she had never so exclusively and without pretext of company offered one of her stories to him.

"When Ymir was young he came upon a young maiden. The maiden was so beautiful that it made his heart stop. Being the brainless lecher that he was, he thought that nothing would please him more than to kiss the maiden wherever he wanted. His thieving had procured him a beautiful golden apple, and so he offered it to her. The maiden was so delighted that she accepted his kisses, while she ate the apple. And Ymir did not leave a single spot unkissed. The following day, Ymir could not help himself and boasted of his deed to everyone in a banquet. The brother of the maiden was attending that banquet and so wrought was he when everyone listened to the story and laughed that he went back home, beat his silly sister, cut off all of her hair and poured scalding water over her. The maiden now was so angry that she gathered her lady friends. And all together they found Ymir. They in turn beat him and hanged him from a tree. They flogged him with the thorny branches of the blackberry bush, until his body was covered in little bleeding eyes. But they were not satisfied. They cut away his nose and his sex and fed them to him. And as a final act they cut him down from the tree he hanged and urinated on his wounds. All the while praising each other for the mercy they displayed in washing the wounds of their enemy. And so Ymir learned a valuable lesson that day. That we never kiss and tell!"

"If you kissed me, I'd never tell" he shrieked. The perfection of such depravity coming from Sif's virtuous mouth had moved him to such thrill that he dared utter these words.

Sif paused startled. The sudden silence underlined their perfect isolation. She quickly turned her eyes around as if following the glimmers of sunlight through the foliage. Save for the creek and the occasional birdsong nothing else sounded. Then Sif cast her glance low, seeming suddenly sad. "You are so desperate that you would even let me spit in your mouth and call it a kiss."

His heart sank, but still he felt that mysterious warm, numbing sensation. It was torture. It was as if one of Sif's stories was happening to him. At the thought he immediately blushed and looked down. He didn't realize how long he stayed silent, but suddenly he came to notice these verses.

 _My heart lead in my chest, I nursed a firestorm with my tears._ The last verse he had read aloud, the words that had roused Sif. Suddenly he felt a surprising surge of bravery within him. "I am not afraid." he said. "If you feel such contempt for me, go ahead, spit me"

"I don't trust you." Sif lashed out "You will tell someone and get me in trouble"

"I won't...but it just seems you don't have the courage"

Whether Sif had wanted to kiss him, or bite him, would never be clear to him, but when thet mouths parted, his bottom lip was bleeding. She stood up, pried the book from his hand and stomped on it before leaving. He stayed behind, picking the pages that had scattered, trying to put it back together. _Now silent, determined I die._ The final lines. The book was a hastily put together manuscript. It was unclear who spoke these last lines. There was a handwritten sidenote from a commentator attributing the last verses to both Nal and Ymir.

Shortly afterwards Sif began to hesitate and sometimes to even stutter. She got frustrated and often stole glances at him. It was not long before she abandoned the stories completely.  Loki could not believe it was because of some secret sentiment she harbored for him, even though it pleased him to daydream about the possibility of such a thing. Thor, however, immediately perceived the rift between them, and seemed to blame Loki for it. He changed towards him, becoming more irritable and violent. With his imagination running wild he had set up an elaborate scene of harassment in which Loki knowing all of Sif's weaknesses had managed to get to her the way no one else had been able to. But it embarrassed him to ask either of them for details, and so he felt more at comfort to make it seem as if he antagonized Loki, instead of outright defending Sif. And since his assumptions about Sif's and Loki's fallout had been completely wrong, his behavior only brought him his brother's resentment.

Loki abandoned their training sessions, and would have abandoned his military education altogether if his mother hadn't intervened. He was given over to a new school outside of the training halls of the palace, with the finest sons and daughters of the nobility as his peers and a program that was more stimulating than having mallets thrown at him. He wasn't much happier, even though there his princely status garnered the symbolic veneration that nobles had for the royal house. He found very little delight in being the best of his class, as he couldn't shake off the sensation that the rest of the students held back out of discretion. And so, even though the program was much lighter, he found himself working harder than ever just to appear dutiful. In this setting it was that he met Eoddir, who was assigned as his personal instructor, and sparring partner. Eoddir carried himself in a way that appealed to him, and so Loki often attributed to him qualities that he admired. For instance, his stern and aloof manner of speaking was just proof of how little he was affected by Loki's status, while his professional manner of correcting his student's stance, or exposing an opening with a soft corrective jab, was just proof of his innate gentleness.

Eoddir happened to be at the very flower of his adolescence. He was as beautiful as he was moderate in character and intelligent in mind. And since his temperament had already gripped Loki's heart, it wasn't difficult for Loki to begin admiring his physical characteristics. From his dark complexion and clear eyes, to his fluid movements and graceful stature, it all spoke to him of a perfect being. A perfect, unattainable being, because he did not quite know what expression these feelings demanded, or if these feelings were even allowed. But steadily they intensified until he could only compare them to what he had previously felt with Sif and her stories. The stories that had made him feel the metallic taste of blood on his tongue and associate it with something pleasant and intimate.

Since his studies had now been designed to take less of his time, he frequently spend any hours he had at his disposal to the antique bookshops that were near his school. There he purchased material that was fit to furnish a prince's library, but what he really sought out was any books that would help him recreate and study these diverse and conflicting emotions about pain and pleasure that were taking root in his soul. His browsing of such subjects was not without guilt, because even if it had never been said to him, his education had been such as to underline cruelty as perverse. So seeking it out was probably a perversion capable of deforming not only him, but those around him as well.

He was at a quiet, private room of a very discreet, and elderly merchant, looking after some titles on the _glorious realm of ice and light_ , when between the pages of the book he discovered a much smaller book with a soft white cover. A simple frame in black and a title in red adorned the first page. There was no author, or publisher mentioned. The print was very tight, and from the first page already it was apparent what kind of book it was, even though its choice of characters was highly unconventional. The story disinterested him quickly, but a few pages into it, he discovered a series of illustrations that were scandalous enough to bring color to his cheeks. The writer might have done a poor job, but the illustrator was clearly gifted and in a few successive compositions the illustrator created a far more enticing universe for the reader.

These illustrations depicting two young men in various acts of passion immediately resonated with him. It was exactly there that he first got an idea of what he could do with his own object of desire. The position of the little book within another bigger book, enveloped like a tiny secret did not fail to make its point; that such affairs must be hidden. And indeed in social circles there was hardly any conversation about lovers of the same sex, even though the exploits of lovers of opposite sexes were frequently subjects on their own. There was a king and a queen in the realm for a reason. And ever since Thor and Loki had been small children, anyone and everyone would stress the importance of a noble princess if either of them wanted to ascend to the throne. Loki often amused Thor with stories of the origins of such princesses, and their exploits before their full-time employment as regents. When he was a child he imagined that there was a realm, or an entire separate dimension focused solely on the production of these brides.

He purchased both titles. Of course he presented the merchant with only the hefty volume on Jotunheim's architectural wonders, failing to mention the presence of a smaller book within its pages, but as recompense he paid more than the price of the book. Having procured both titles to read at his leisure, he quickly forgot his fascination with Jotunheim, and engrossed himself to the study of the small, lecherous book. Even though it would have appealed to him to be seduced, the urgency of his feelings, and his position of power required him to do the seducing. Having no idea on how to do that, he started frequenting the training halls at a more intensive pace, coming in early and leaving late in order to have a chance at befriending his unsuspecting instructor. Unfortunately, Eoddir's duties did not permit him much leisure within the school, and his circle of friends with whom he socialized after the classes was impenetrable. With more time to observe Eoddir, and with little further personal contact, Loki's idolization instead of collapsing, reached its peak and backfired since now it seemed to him an impossibility that his fantasies would be realized. Such a paragon of professionalism and morality would never stoop to a shameful affair that would compromise a prince.

It was a dark, rainy morning, when while pondering his lust for Eoddir at a terrace, Eoddir and one of his tutors appeared, walking down at the garden, arguing. Or rather it was Eoddir that was doing all the arguing. He was complaining in a most heartfelt manner that his application for the position of a sparring partner for the older prince- that was Thor- had received no answer. Their tutor went on to explain that the number of applicants by far exceeded the number of positions, and so he would have to wait to be interviewed for at least two more years. Loki's heart had already sank to his stomach, when Eoddir tried to argue that his time as the younger prince's instructor should move him up on the list. He failed to listen to the rest of the conversation, because following the downward route his heart had taken, he took to the floor and cried.

It wasn't just that Eoddir's aloof demeanor proved to be violent indifference towards him that did him in. It was that despite all his gifts, Eoddir would prefer to be among the fawning sycophants Thor gathered around him, and would even deign to get beat up just to be in his presence. His jealousy plunged him into a state of apathy for the rest of the day. He failed to follow the lesson, and when Eoddir came to instruct him, distracted could not even begin to describe his graceless flopping around. So much so that he managed to provoke Eoddir's indignation, and who instead of jabbing him softly when an opening was presented, hit him so hard that Loki lost both his breath and his footing. To Loki when Eoddir hit him, it wasn't because he had lost patience, or because he had been frustrated with his own problems, but rather because Loki wasn't the older prince. Loki wasn't Thor. And that thought compelled him to cold fury.

Still he rose and apologized for his lack of concentration, and vowed to do better tomorrow. But tomorrow was no different. He deliberately failed at everything Eoddir tried to instruct him prompting him to confusion and the rest of his tutors to criticism. He maintained this behavior for several days until one day he apologized again to Eoddir, making some imaginary excuse for his distracted state of mind. If Eoddir was kind enough to help him catch up with the rest of the class, he promised to never give him any more cause for grief. And so Eoddir relieved that he would not have to toil with a student that had never, troubled him before kindly accepted staying after-hours to instruct him. 

Loki's plan was to catch him of guard and humiliate him. It did not cross his mind at all that this unique chance at privacy was an opportunity to make his feelings known. And it did not bother him that a display of deception would further alienate Eoddir. He waited until the two of them were in perfect isolation, and after a brief introduction on the exercises they would practice, he assaulted his teacher. It wasn't long before Eoddir realized that his student's attacks were not backed by enthusiasm, or determination, but pure malice. Nevertheless he parried the attacks, driven by his own sense of pride. But when it seemed that his student was not trying to show off, but was rather set on injuring him, he threatened. And then what didn't work, he praised. When neither worked he thought it best to disarm the ill-tempered prince.

It wasn't a move he had anticipated. It wasn't a move that he thought possible-testament that he hadn't been idolizing Eoddir without reason. But in his panic he countered with an evasion and a clean stab under the jaw, leaving the young instructor in shock, bleeding on the floor. In that moment all his fury fled him, and he rushed to his teacher's aid. A healing spell flaring under his fingertips, biting his lips and silently crying he was overwhelmed with what he had just done. And even though by his efforts alone he didn't deserve it, he couldn't help but starve for Eoddir's affection at that moment. He noticed how close to him he finally was, and all of Eoddir's perfect features, the reality of him being there completely vulnerable to his attentions. He completely lost himself.

Pressing his fingers right on the stab wound, he felt it slowly close, and with his other hand pushed back Eoddir's hair from his sweating brow. For all his loss, he felt strangely powerful. Bold, inappropriate and perverse, like Sif's sinning characters, he couldn't fight the urge to transgress. And without much thought that he should resist his unnatural desire he put his mouth on his beloved's wound, nursing it gently with his tongue. The taste of blood, sticky in his mouth with its overpowering scent, roused something wondrous inside him. So lost he was in a warm sort of comforting numbness that he did not realize Eoddir regaining consciousness.

Angry and righteously so, he pushed him off and without any delay, swept him on the floor and pinned him there with his knee pressing on his thigh. All his weight resting there, causing Loki delirious pain, he seized his wrists to prevent him from protecting himself and hit him repeatedly on the face with very little restraint. Loki had no will to protect himself, but the vulgar reaction his body had to the beating, alarmed him as much as to at least try and escape. His gasps and moans hardly sounded as if he were in pain, and they sobered Eoddir just enough to realize what kind of response his roughing elicited. Embarrassed, he let him flee.

Eoddir had been bred to seek advancement in his life, and now with little effort an unexpected prize had been delivered into his hands. 

 

...............................

 

"Are you perhaps asleep?"

Compared to Sif's mischievous characters he had escaped relatively unscathed. At least, physically speaking. Lying on his bed, he still felt the ghosts of the blows he had received with fondness. And for that fondness he blamed Sif. He held a grudge not entirely believing that she had instilled in him such desires with her stories, but because she remained unaffected by them. She abhorred cruelty most of all and she always seemed to be very vigilant about it. Maybe the stories were just that; a test of character to weed him out of their company as strange and unnatural. He was deep in these thoughts when Fandral, who had come to browse his library, spoke.

Fandral being the most prone to peacemaking among them had actually come to find out for what reason there had been a terrible fallout between the Odinsons. He had not been able to redeem himself of guilt ever since. It felt as if they had taken sides in a shameless manner that proclaimed to all the court they had been glad Loki had fled their company. He expected to find Loki resentful, but instead he was more or less welcoming, if not a bit morose. Immediately after he had opened the door for him, he flopped on the bed, and tucking a book under his head, he had closed his eyes and ignored him. Perhaps he wanted to appear asleep, but it was obvious from the tension of his posture that he was overthinking himself into madness.

"If I am disturbing you, I can leave" he probed again, but Loki answered with his silence. Then after a while he finally looked at him.

"Is there something in particular you are looking for?"

"Well, that old manuscript you had with Ymir and how he was turned into Asgard's ocean by the demon Farbauti, but I am lost. I don't even remember how it looks.

Loki froze. He could not remember what he had done with it after that day at the garden. He stood up and walked to the library to search for it. "I mean it would be easier to find if you didn't have as many books on Jotunheim. I think there are more in your library than there are in all the libraries of Asgard...Are you trying to be some sort of expert?"

Loki paused for a moment and looked at him.

"Promise not to laugh?"

"Yes, of course."

Loki hesitated, but he thought that perhaps intimating a silly dream would bring him and Fandral closer together. He hadn't expressed such a thing to anyone before, but he sorely missed the casual conversations he could have with Thor's friends. And in his brief and self-imposed exile he came to realize he had no friends of his own to confide to.

"When I was a child, father would tell us about the war with Jotunheim. I hate to admit it but I began having nightmares. I saw that the Jotnar came to abduct me. I had this very specific, recurring dream...in which...they took me to Jotunheim, and dismembered me, and buried my parts underneath an altar of sorts. But strangely, and that's what scared me the most, I didn't feel terrified...Believe it or not, I felt comfortable, as if my soul was knowing real rest in death. I didn't like these dreams at all. So I thought that if I learned everything there was to learn about Jotunheim and the Jotnar, I wouldn't be as terrified of them as I was."

"You had nightmares about the Jotnar! So did I! Mother used to tell us the most frightful stories...So is it true? Do they abduct children and eat them?"

"Of course not. That's all slander. There is really nothing to fear from them and the war was our fault. Though they resent us ever since we took the eyes of Loptr and the head of Mimir."

"Well, they were the ones who aligned themselves with the worship of a literal devil"

"Farbauti is not a devil in their pantheon, and they do not call her that. They call her Nal and she is the mother of Loptr, who was also worshiped here. And no matter what way you look at it we have benefited immensely from our contact with them, yet what do they have to show for their service to Asgard, other than the ruins they now dwell."

"I see it in my mind's eye now, you a true scholar of all things Jotun marrying a lovely Jotun princess in the future and bringing peace between our realms"

"Don't tell my mother, and don't tell Thor, but I will never marry. A Jotun no less."

"I can understand the Jotun bit, but not marrying at all? How would you be king"

"I won't be king"

"Oh...Thor thinks you will be."

"That's because he is an idiot"

"No. He frequently tells us so. He says your father has bestowed him with gift after gift, what else can this dotting be other than consolation. He says that he has Mjolnir and rightfully so, but if your hands are empty still it is because father intends to give you Gungnir "

"Not even in my wildest dreams will I possess Gungnir...It's unbelievable how insecure my brother is to not only fear such an outcome, but voice his preposterous concerns in the company of strangers"

 "Strangers?" Fandral started. "Is that why you have been avoiding us?"

"I thought my absence would hardly be noticed in a crowd as great as the one my brother attracts."

"Don't be unreasonable. You really don't miss _us_ , Thor, or Sif?"

"You are not dead, are you?"

"When you jest in this manner, it makes it difficult for people to like you. Surely these are not your true sentiments. Something happened to estrange you so"

"Did you come here to spy? Did Thor sent you here because he couldn't be seen making peace with me; admitting his faults?"

"I came of my own free will."

"Pity. I had hoped Thor would at least worry a bit about the scale of my resentment"

"So there is something to make you resent him?"

"Why should I tell you? You are not here to console me."

Fandral had stopped helping him with the search of the elusive manuscript for a time now. He was standing there, looking down embarrassed. It had never been his intention to come here for the book and that thought flustered him horribly. There was a growing pile of books on the floor when he gave up and started putting them back in the library. Fandral still not saying anything, nor making any move to help him. 

"I thought you had noticed...but you didn't. Thor drove me away and I don't know why. I didn't do anything to injure him or his pride"

Fandral exhaled in relief, though that vexed Loki immediately. "He is probably hurt and disappointed over something. If you soothed him, the way only you know how, everything would be restored between you. Don't you prefer it that way, Loki? This doesn't become you. Staying all alone in your rooms, conversing with no one and sulking in silence. Heavens know what gloomy thoughts you've thought."

"Actually, I have never been more pleased. I can't antagonize with Thor and I don't want to. I am happier when I don't have to suppress myself to coddle my brother's sense of greatness."  
  
"You are not wrong, Thor can be too much, but don't call this happiness. You are eaten away by something. I am concerned as your friend"

"Friend? How can you profess yourself my friend? If you had been my friend, the way you are Thor's friend, wouldn't you have abandoned him and followed me? Wouldn't have you lent an ear for my troubles, the way you accept Thor's downpour of grievances about me and our father?. Don't call yourself my friend when you most often call on me for something you need. And where are the rest of my friends who must absolutely share your concerns...I do not see them here."

Suddenly as Fandral maneuvered a hefty volume on architecture back to its shelf, a cascade of loose pages fell on the floor. He was about to scold him, when he noticed the little white book among them. Fandral picked it up, his eyes widening from the shock of recognition, before Loki snatched it from him. 

 "It was there, tucked like a bookmark when I bought the book so spare me" he said, but Fandral's look said he didn't believe him.

 

 ...............................

 

He was determined to return to his usual schedule tomorrow. If Eoddir wanted to expose him, he could accuse him of making advances to him, get him expelled, and forget about him. He secretly wished that was the direction things would take. Yet the next day, things went unremarkably normal. Apart from when Fandral decided to show up. Apparently, the idea that Loki was in the right had been lodged into his head. And so instead of pursuing a reconciliation between the Odinsons- an impossible task at the moment- he had decided to openly show favor to Loki and attend him the way he previously attended Thor. Loki had become further vexed, until the new student's dalliance with the prince elicited several curious glances from Loki's own object of desire, Eoddir.

 While he was having lunch, Eoddir came to find him. He reminded him that he still had to stay after-hours for their scheduled lessons and then left. When they remained alone however, instead of practicing, Eoddir decided to confront him about the events of the previous day. It was at that time that Fandral conveniently reappeared and rescued him from the embarrassment of having to answer for his behavior. Fandral having always been extraordinarily perceptive had immediately seized upon the situation, even if the details of it escaped him. It was with little effort that he conjured an excuse to extract him from his tutor, and it was with even less strain that he convinced Loki to leave with him. They did not return to the palace, however.

After a while, having found a quiet spot by the promenade at the lake, Loki confessed his feelings. Fandral had displayed visible distaste and had go on a long tirade about the unsuitability of his prospective lover, starting with his genealogy. Apparently, Fandral was in particular biased against Eoddir's people and he was not alone in court to regard the Vanir of the Eastern Isles as notorious social climbers. And it was even worse for those Vanir, who like Eoddir's grandparents had come to settle Raia, and mixed with the local nobility there to achieve their current status in Asgard. Fandral's inflammatory monologue imbued him with fear and hesitation. Yet his presence was not disagreeable to him.   

 

                                                                                                                     ........................

 

 

Fandral, who at the point felt that he was acting benevolently, escorted Loki on a series of outings after their courses at the academy. Many of these outings were suited around Loki's own preferences, and so they frequented all those places that were private enough to secure them anonymity, but also as refined as to appeal to Loki's exclusive tastes. Those places were mainly the alley with the antique bookshops at the north side of the fjord, where many establishments reserved a private room so that prince could peruse volumes at his pleasure. The gardens on the Halcyon Isles, where they had dinner, and the part of the lake promenade below the theater, where they were holding lengthy conversations- or rather Fandral was holding lengthy monologues that were interrupted by Loki's sulking sighs, or in particular harsh criticisms.

It was in such an outing at a rather busy bookstore that together they discovered a hefty book of salacious nature. For a few moments they both stayed fixated on some of the illustrations, but the prose was good too. It was then that Loki started pressuring him to purchase the book in his place- which he vigorously protested. It was then decided, and Fandral was certain that Loki had done it before, to purchase a number of other books, and stow away the one that interested them somewhere hidden on their persons. This could hardly be called adventurous, but it had them quite flustered by the time they reached Loki's rooms. A little crime was all that was needed to uplift Loki's spirits. He immediately let all of his prior gloom fade and was now in a cheerful, playful mood.

They lied together on the furs on the floor, and eagerly began their reading. Loki apparently found it humorous to read aloud all the sexual parts in an old style of recitation. They were soon both shaking with mirth and their reading had come to a halt. Then suddenly Loki announced that he was bored and suggested they look at the images instead. So they immediately flipped to the end of the book, and devoted themselves in the careful study of its illustrations. Their enjoyment turned into introspection and soon Fandral became overly aware of his own tendencies softly budding into an intoxicating feeling of lust. Loki remained focused on the book, his chilly demeanor not betraying how affected he too was. Then suddenly Loki closed the book and looked at him with genuine wonderment.

 "Do you think it would be wrong if we had sex like that?" he asked.

"...No" Fandral answered, and felt a little ashamed, because of course that was what he wanted right now. But Loki was not offended by his impudent retort. His mouth split into  a mischievous grin.

"Take off your clothes then"

"What now?"

"Is it better that we set another date?"

Fandral blushed "...It's not that...I don't know how to put back my armor by myself"

"I will help you."

"Really? Because it can be quite tricky"

"I'll manage it"

In a matter of minutes they had undressed and fallen together on the bed. Since neither had much, or any experience for that matter, they just lied together, mostly looking at each other, when at last with great tentativity they began caressing each other. In a few exhilarating moments they had found mutual bliss, followed by an undisturbed, flawless sleep. When they parted they couldn't have been happier, but soon after Fandral left, Loki could not help but slip back into his usual anxiety.

 

.....................

 

He had wanted to hurry to Sif and tell her about this, all the details of this strange affair and what he had done. But Sif wouldn't have been titillated. She would have been appalled. Also they were no longer on good terms. That angered him a little, and saddened him a lot. Sif had nothing but contempt for him. Eoddir had been contemptuous too. They both had a similar reason for tolerating him, and that was that up to the point he had made his advances, he had been policing himself very strictly. Regardless. Their natural instincts were to go for Thor. In fact everyone's natural instincts were to go for Thor. And Thor already made bold statements that it was him the people wanted for crown prince. He had wanted to see his father to try and gauge his feelings on the matter, but what could he really expect? These thoughts plunged him to anxiety. When the next day he was reunited with Eoddir under the pretext of private instruction, he had lost all his appetite for romance. Eoddir didn't force a discussion on him, and they practiced for most of their allotted time. For the rest of the day it plagued him that so soon, already a choice had been made that all the efforts and future achievements he had been groomed for, would be in vain. Thor had defeated him just by virtue of his personality. After all, Mjolnir had already been given to him, even if his access to it had been restricted after the incident on Midgard. And Mjolnir was no consolation prize. What had he been given? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Loki could not deny that he lived in wealth. But what good did it do him if this did not promise his advancement. Maybe as children that advancement had taken the shape of a crown for the both of them. But now ambition incessantly materialized for Thor in gifts and admiration, while for him it remained unattainable.

Later that evening and completely by chance he happened upon Sif resting by a fountain, and an interesting conversation ensued. At the beginning Sif was morose, but having greeted him politely he found it hard to stay mad at her for her jab in the garden. She seemed inclined to silence but eventually defeated by her own restlessness she complained to him about Thor. Sif might have championed his brother ferociously, but it wasn't as if he wasn't causing her any grievances. It surprised Loki to an unbelievable extent when Sif admitted that he found Thor's presence stifling.  It was the first time he had heard anyone confess to disliking the older prince even in a small, trivial manner, as a fleeting vexation. He was about to suggest to her that she didn't have to repress herself by staying in his company, when he realized the impossibility and ridiculousness of such a suggestion. For despite all her faults, she had been chosen out of three hundred  and three firstborns of the nobility to be raised alongside the older prince. Just like Fandral and Hogun, both of them second children, had been chosen as his companions. Being who he was, he had never thought to suppress the subtle distaste they had for him, nor to condemn as inappropriate their preference for Thor. As young children and throughout their life they had been bred to be faithful confidants, reserving the utmost veneration and partiality that nobles had for the royal house, just for him and Thor. Thor's radiance of course was easier to love, but Loki could not really complain. He received his due with little negligence on their part, and had been defended by them even in cases where he had been wrong.

The next day he was compelled to apologize to Eoddir for his erratic behavior. He went as far as to admit that he was abusing his status and the commitment to the royal house that Eoddir had as a noble-born son. These things seemed to please his prospective lover greatly. And as Loki looked his best when he wore an earnest countenance, Eoddir could not help himself but kiss him. This brought the prince great joy.

 

 


End file.
